


bedsheets and love

by Emeka



Category: God Eater (Video Games)
Genre: M/M, Obsessive Behavior, Scent Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-25
Updated: 2020-05-25
Packaged: 2021-03-02 03:53:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,040
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23948725
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Emeka/pseuds/Emeka
Summary: Responsibility affords opportunity.
Relationships: Amamiya Lindow/Protagonist (God Eater 1)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 7





	bedsheets and love

He is too good for this, even as someone with no real ego at all; too good for this kind of sick vulturing, as any good man is, and he is one of those, isn't he? He has always liked to believe so and never had any serious reason to think otherwise until now.

Now, when hearing of his promotion does not make his stomach flip with new responsibility, or his heart pound with pride, or give him any thought of what he could do to take care of his team. His stomach does flip and his heart does pound, but it is over the news that he will be taking over Lindow's room.

He is too good for this, even as someone with no real ego at all; too good for this kind of sick vulturing, as any good man is, and he is one of those, isn't he? He has always liked to believe so and never had any serious reason to think otherwise until now.

Now, when hearing of his promotion does not make his stomach flip with new responsibility, or his heart pound with pride, or give him any thought of what he could do to take care of his team. His stomach does flip and his heart does pound, but it is over the news that he will be taking over Lindow's room.

It’s just as it was left. All of Lindow’s furnishings, his personal effects, even his trash, a few cans in the bin still lingering with the stale smell of beer. And though over two weeks have passed… his scent remains as well, soaked deep into the cushionings, hanging in the air. It is also a little stale, after all this while, but it’s too pleasant to be affected much. Sweet, something bright and woody, he wishes he had a name for it. Cypress? Wormwood? And where does it come from? Body odor, shampoo, soap; maybe cologne, though for all his talk of dates, somehow he didn’t strike him as the type.

With the door safely locked behind him, he begins in earnest to disgrace himself.

He presses beer cans hard to his lips, imagining he can taste something beyond the dull metal. So many times, so many dreams, just for a man who told him not to die. At first he’d assumed it was a crush he’d grow out of it... nothing so bad as this. But then, never having a crush before, he cannot say for himself what goes with them. Perhaps this is normal though he doubts it when the only times he has infatuation depicted like this is in horror stories.

His feelings for Lindow are horrific—maybe so, but he isn’t hurting anyone, even Lindow, who he is realistic enough to know is almost undoubtedly dead and gone by now. So it’s alright. Alright if he does... whatever he wants.

And what has always filled his head is a bed, in one service or another. Lindow coming to him in the middle of the night, confessing love and lust, or going to Lindow’s (the matter of locks conveniently ignored) and promising to be better than any woman could be, making all kinds of feverishly-imagined love either way.

His mind and body are so used to his fantasies they are seared with them. He can taste Lindow’s semen on his tongue, hear his growls, feel his fingers digging into his waist, all based on nothing, down to the image he maintains of his nude body, but as real to him as any other thing. 

They take place in his own bed, or the shower occasionally, though there they lacked the comfort of the dark that made them so vivid.

He takes his boots off with all due reverence now at the foot of _Lindow’s_ bed, unlacing slowly with his trembling fingers. He is otherwise clothed as he steps into it, one knee followed tenderly by another to test the springs. After he bathes tonight he will experience this again, in a greater state of vulnerability and ready to be caressed indirectly by the body that once slept here.

For now, this does not displease either. He feels like a trespasser. Or the horror he is.

Once laid fully out he grabs a pillow to his face; the smell of the room, and a faint astringent note of soap, smothers him. Lindow is practically a presence below him, offering his chest for his attention.

He breathes in so deep it feels like his lungs will burst. But he wants him in there, inside him, embedded in between his ribs long after the sheets have been washed. 

One of his hands he places palm down between his legs, just tented enough he can feel the the rise leading up to the knuckles against his groin. If he can make-believe a moment this pillow is Lindow’s chest, then this here is his hard cock, and he whispers aloud what has been drifting in his head for so long: _iloveyouiloveyouiREALLYloveyou_ \--

Either his hips match the rhythm of his breath, or his breath matches his hips, but either way they concide, driving him deeper and deeper down within his head even as his body lifts higher, as things do under heat. Expand. Dissolve. His spine is dissolving to make way for the ache of his groin, and not for one moment does he think to unzip himself. 

There comes a point as _he_ comes that he almost loses himself entirely. A thundercloud hangs low in his head, eclipsing almost the horizon of his mind. If that happened...

There’d be nothing left but his love.

The possibility frightens him—not out of fear for his sanity or anything, but in awe, as comes over him with each new Aragami he faces. Almost religious. 

He sucks on the corner of the pillow as the thundercloud slowly drifts away. There is sense enough in him again for shame at what he’s doing, but he still toys with what he felt. That thundercloud. It’s gone, but it will rain again eventually. It will return. By his own volition, very soon, if he keeps acting this way. Next time maybe it will stuff his head until there’s nothing left.


End file.
